By Timothy Lantz

Chapter 2
Isha

I

I awoke to the sound of a gentle tapping outside my door. It had been hours since Blake left and I was still positioned comfortably on the couch. The now empty scotch bottle rested at my feet, no doubt a contributor to the state in which I found myself.

I tried desperately to close my eyes and ignore the knocking; however, there was a persistence to it that demanded attention. I let a sigh of resignation escape my lips, and gingerly pushed myself onto my feet. “Just a moment,” I yelled.

The knocking stopped.

I tried rubbing the sleep from my eyes and searched for the clock. It was where it had always been, its bright white face mocking me, the hands indicating half past ten. I wasn’t sure if it was still evening or if I had slept clean through to the next morning. I suppose it didn’t really matter.

I shuffled over to the door and glanced through the peeper. The Samaritan was standing in the hall.

My heart skipped a beat and I stepped back. Frantically, I stole a glance at the mirror. Thoughts about pulling a comb through my hair surfaced briefly but I realized it would be too little, too late. Instead, I dipped my hand in the bucket of melted ice sitting on the bar and splashed some cold water in my face. It felt good, and I used a little more to slick back the few strands of stray hair that had developed a will of their own.

My primping was cut short by another knock, and I already felt bad about making her wait. I returned to the door and pulled it open. She was everything I remembered and more.

I stood silently for a moment taking her in. Those warm, brown eyes gazed back me. I must have been a hell of a sight however, because she wrinkled her nose and frowned.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” I lied.

She smiled and looked past me into the room. “May I?”

“Of course.” I stepped aside and watched her glide past. The smell of jasmine followed her in. “Can I take your coat?”

She stopped in her tracks, her back facing me, and let her coat slip down from her shoulders with a shrug. I moved to catch it and stole my first sight of the dress she wore underneath. It was a simple jade green number, backless and devoid of any ostentatious design. It fit tight in all the right places and I stood transfixed by the view of her golden brown skin.

I think she could feel my eyes on her and maybe that’s why she lingered there letting me see the whole package before striding further into the room. Or maybe she was just so perfect that time seemed to stop. When I finally recovered enough of my wits, I hung her coat in the closet and followed her into the room.

She sat on the couch, her legs crossed demurely. I was tempted to sit beside her, but thinking better of it, I stood my ground. “Can I get you something to drink, some coffee perhaps Miss…” I let the invitation hang there, more of a polite question than an actual offer.

“Asar,” she smiled. “Isha Asar. Only it’s Mrs. not Miss.”

“Mrs.?” I repeated as the air leaked out all four of my tires.

“Yes.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Does that disappoint you?”

“Would it be forward if I said yes?”

“Would it be honest?”

I grinned.

“I like honesty,” she breathed as she sunk back against the sofa.

“I like women who save my life.”

“Perhaps we can make something of this mutual admiration?”

“Maybe, but I don’t go for the married type.”

“What type do you go for?”

“Types like you, that aren’t married.”

For a second, I saw the devil in her eyes. “I think I’m beginning to like you Mr. Hawkins.”

“Just beginning? Let me know when you’re well on your way.”

She laughed. “I think we can safely say that I’m well on my way.”

“Great.” I winked at her. “I’ll go get that coffee.”

II

I returned from the kitchen with coffee, two cups, a bowl of sugar and a small carton of cream. I could feel her eyes following my every move as I placed the tray down on the table. It didn’t make me uncomfortable. I fixed myself the usual, black with two sugars, and settled into the chair opposite the sofa. “I guess I owe you my thanks. They say if you hadn’t come along…”

She turned her head as if I had embarrassed her. “But I did.”

“Yeah.” I let it drop and for the next few minutes just sat there sipping the java and watching the delicate fingers of her left hand play with the gold bracelet she wore on her right wrist.

“Do you know why I was there that night Mr. Hawkins?”

“You mean it wasn’t just to save my life?”

She smiled again. “A fortunate accident.”

“Seems to be the story of my life, but don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I came to your office that night because I need your help.”

“Why me?”

“From what I hear, you’re a fairly resourceful individual.”

“I get by.”

“Tell me. Are you any good at finding things?”

“What kind of things?”

“Husbands.”

III

The word hung in the air like a lead balloon. “Husband.” Somehow I just couldn’t get my head around it. Isha was everything I had ever wanted in a woman and yet, despite the fact that she was sitting on my sofa, she was as inaccessible to me as a million dollars. Which is to say, it was something I could have if I wanted it badly enough, but I’m afraid of what I’d have to do to get it.

I had no interest in this case. How could I? Finding him pushed me out of the picture, but I was plenty interested in her. If I told her the truth, she’d leave, and I wasn’t ready for that. Just being near her was soothing the ache in my ribs. I decided to play along, if only for selfish reasons. "How long has Mr. Asar been missing?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks? That’s a long time. Have you tried the police?"

She looked away from me, her voice almost a whisper. "I'm afraid it's a little too complicated for the police."

"I don’t know. The police are pretty good with complicated.”

Her attention turned back to me, I think I saw fear in her eyes. "Oscar has certain ties, connections that make the police a little too interested.”

I sat silent waiting for the next bomb to drop. It wasn’t Hiroshima, but it was a heavy shell.

“Do you know Seth Allen?"

"The club owner?"

"Yes."

"What's your husband's connection to that gun runner?"

"He's my brother-in-law."

I let out a low, slow whistle. "Must make things difficult around the holidays."

"You can see why I'm hesitant to go to the police?"

I nodded. "Do you suspect Seth has something to do with your husband's disappearance?"

"I don't know. I pray that he doesn't, for my sister's sake.”

“So why not just ask him what he knows?”

"As I said, it's complicated."

I could sense she had become vulnerable in that moment. It wasn’t easy for her to lay this all out, and suddenly I felt like a heel listening to her life’s details when I had already made up my mind about taking the case. Something in my conscience just wouldn’t allow me to deceive her any more, and desperate as I was to keep her here, I had to come clean. “Look, Isha, I gotta be honest here. When I opened that door and saw you standing in the hall, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. My heart jumped like a kid with a schoolboy crush. But none of that matters, I just can’t go on with a married woman. I know I’m presuming a lot, hell I don’t even know if this is all in my head, but I think there’s an attraction there. Something in your eyes, your manner, it’s leading me down that road. I just can’t be sure I’d have your husband’s best interests at heart. Honestly, finding him would be like driving a nail through my own hand.” Now I was feeling vulnerable, I turned my head away from her gaze. “Besides, I’m hardly in any shape at all to go looking for anyone right now.”

After a long pause, she treated me to that smile once more. “There’s that honesty again.”

“It’s a bad habit I have.”

Her next move came as somewhat of a surprise. I had fully expected her to leave after my confession. Instead, she reached for the coffee and poured herself a cup. I continued watching as she added cream and sugar. Her hands were steady and she moved with a grace that I was unaccustomed to seeing in the women in my life. It was making my resistance waver a little. When she had turned the coffee the perfect shade of mud, she sat back and sipped from the edge of the cup. My eyes focused on her lips. I could feel them burning in my mind.

“When Oscar and I first met, it was though the world had been created just for us, because of us maybe. It opened new opportunities for both of us and we were soon living a dream.”

“And now?”

“The dream is still there, only, I think we’ve both woken up a bit.” She looked for my reaction, but I was busy trying hard not to give her one. “It’s not that we no longer care for each other, we do.” Her voice quivered a little. I couldn’t tell if it was me or herself that she was trying to convince. “We have separate lives now, things that neither of us will admit to, or question the other about. He’s become more a brother, than a husband.”

I couldn’t believe anyone would ever leave her alone, but I sensed she was being genuine. “So, why not call it a day? Move on?”

“It’s all going to sound so strange and you’ll think I’m terrible for sure, but Oscar is, has always been, a far better brother than he was a husband. As for moving on, I suppose you could say we have, in our own way.” There was no anger in her voice, just a calm resignation.

“Is it…”

“Lonely?” She lowered her eyes to the inside of her cup.

I was going to say “enough,” but clearly it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough for a woman like her. She needed to be loved and to feel passion, not just acceptance. I wanted to tell her things, and make her feel that passion that she so desperately craved, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place, not now, maybe never. I let the words die in my throat, and simply nodded.

“It was just easier to let go than either of us realized, to turn off those feelings. Involve myself in other things.”

It was a story I had heard too often before. Being a detective was a lot like being the relationship janitor. By the time you got called in, there was nothing left but the cleanup. Only this time, I didn’t feel that I was looking at the end so much as I was staring at the beginning. Perhaps, the death had already occurred? Was she ready to be resurrected? I swallowed and took a chance. “And now?”

“It’s not so easy anymore. I guess it hasn’t been for a while, only maybe I couldn’t see it. Didn’t want to see it.” She placed the coffee cup back on the table and looked into my eyes. “I don’t want to be lonely anymore Mr. Hawkins.”

I was starting to feel dizzy. My head swooned with thoughts I shouldn’t have had. I couldn’t stop myself. “How can I help you Mrs. Asar?”

“I just need to know that he’s alright. That he’s going to be okay.” Her eyes were starting to glisten, her lips quivering. “I can’t go on until I know. I owe him, owe myself, that much. Do you understand?”

I did.

On to Chapter 3: The Twelve Hours of Night

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